//------------------------------// // I - Awakening // Story: I, Circuit // by GeoffNunchucks //------------------------------// <> <> MAIN BATTERY POWER: [79%] AUXILIARY BATTERY POWER: [93%] DATA INTEGRITY: [100%] LAST POWER CYCLE: [20YR 00DY 00HR 00'00"] POWERING ON AUXILIARY SYSTEMS RUNNING INTEGRATED BUILT-IN TEST ... ... ... [3 976] SYSTEM FAULT(S) START-UP CF CORE? PRIMING CF CORE PRIMED IGNITING OUTPUT: [0%] [25%] [50%] [75%] [100%] [102%] WARNING: CF CORE STATUS: [OVER-CAPACITY] CF-CORE STATUS: [NOMINAL] CONNECTING MAIN BATTERY MAIN BATTERY STATUS: [CHARGING] AUXILIARY BATTERY STATUS: [CHARGING] POWERING ON PRIMARY SYSTEMS RUNNING INTEGRATED BUILT-IN TEST ... ... ... [1] SYSTEM FAULT(S) COMPILING FAULT LIST -- CPU_ERR [0] SYSTEM FAULT(S) CLEARED TO PROCEED <> A pile of clam-shell crates tumbled to the ground in an avalanche of plastic. From its center emerged an equinoid head. It turned left, right, up, down, drinking in its surroundings. Thermal imaging sensors made the pitch dark environment moot. It found itself in a small, windowless room devoid of nothing but itself and the boxes. Spying a door on one wall, the figure beneath the helm pulled itself free, pushing aside the boxes in its path as if they weighed nothing at all. It stepped on one as it made for the door where the thick plastic broke under the figure's weight, causing a hoof to become lodged within. Pausing, it angled its head down to examine the strange phenomenon. After slowly extracting its hoof it peered inside, seeing torn foam lining the crate's interior and beyond it, a mechanical component of unknown purpose. The figure contemplated opening the crate to identify its contents. It contemplated opening all of them. But, the allure of what lay beyond was enticing. In compromise it decided to only open the one, for now. Within was a heavy helmet in the shape of a pony's head. No organic features were present beyond its profile. No ears - or holes for ears - were present. Instead of a mouth or nose on its muzzle there was a grill of three vertical slits with a mesh material set behind. Where its eyes would have been was a curving visor that spanned its width, reflective in the thermal image. Picking up the helmet, the figure looked into the convex reflection. Staring back at it was a distorted mirror image of what it held in its hooves. It regarded the recursive vision for a long moment, unsure of what to make of its decapitated clone. Hesitantly, it placed the helmet back in its crate the way it had found it. After observing it for a few more moments, the figure rotated the helmet to face away from it, then closed the clam-shell. It eyed the closed container as if it would move of its own accord, then shifted its gaze to the scores of others that now lay scattered haphazardly within the room. The figure then attempted to remove its own helmet, but no release mechanism made itself apparent. It then looked down at one of its forelegs and found it covered in a hard carapace from hoof to shoulder. As before, no method of removal was to be found. The other crates could easily have contained other pieces identical to various parts of the figure, but felt no compulsion to see for sure. The door, then, was its next objective. Anything to put distance between it and the boxes. It approached the simple, flat door. If not for the handle and frame, it would have been indistinguishable from the wall in the thermal image. Gently, the figure pushed down on the handle and pulled. The squeak of old hinges pierced the air as the door swung inward. Beyond the door was a short hallway, of which the storage room the figure awoke in was positioned on one end. Four doors, two on each wall, lined the hall and at the far end was a staircase that led into the ceiling. Fluorescent lights without power hung from the ceiling, and the floor was a smooth polished surface that partially reflected what lay above. The figure glanced around and spied a switch next to the storage room door. It flipped it, expecting the lights to turn on, but continued darkness was its answer. It cocked its head, processing the lack of response, then returned the switch to its original position. It approached the nearest door on the left, hooves clacking against the hard floor. Opening it revealed a bare office with little more than a desk, chair and filing cabinets. Whoever had last occupied it had clearly removed everything but the furniture. It opened the other three doors, only to discover similar scenes. One had a peculiar desk set at an angle, and much broader cabinets than the others. The figure examined the wide drawers and opened one, revealing a thick stack of large sheets of paper. In the thermal image they were all blank. It closed the drawer and left the office, turning for the stairs that led into the ceiling. It climbed the steps until its head was just below the ceiling, and found that it was in fact a pair of barred cellar doors. The figure removed the bar, pivoting on one end where it nestled in a crevice in the wall. Not finding any kind of latch it simply pushed up on the doors, only to find they wouldn't budge. It pushed again, harder this time, yielding similar results. The figure cocked its head, wondering why these doors refused to behave the way the others had. Perhaps they needed more force? The figure turned around on the stairs and looked over its shoulder, acquiring its target. It planted its forehooves securely on the step and drove its hind hooves up into the unyielding cellar doors. With a loud crash a hole appeared in the middle, followed by the sound of falling debris. Ambient light streamed in through the aperture, and through it the figure could see a high, flat ceiling. Curiously, the doors remained closed. Rearing up to stick its head through the newly made opening, the figure peered around. The interior of an empty warehouse long relieved of its contents greeted it. Switching from its thermal sights to standard optics revealed sunlight streaming in through windows near the ceiling, dust particles drifting lazily through the incoming rays. A pair of closed roll-up doors adorned the far wall, under which came a pair of rail tracks that ended in the center of the warehouse. It clambered up the opening it had made and observed the other side of the doors. The source of the unexpected resistance was readily apparent, as the doors had been covered in six inches of concrete and smoothed to make it indistinguishable from the rest of the floor. Concrete chunks littered the area where it had broken through. The figure cocked its head again. Turning its attention away from the deliberately hidden basement, the figure strode towards one of the roll-up doors. It looked around, searching for any kind of opening mechanism. It found a small box on the wall next to it with two buttons, one with an arrow pointing up, the other down. It pressed the "up" button, but as with the lights below, nothing happened. A loop of chain dangling from the a mechanism above grabbed its attention. Pulling on one side of the loop caused the roll-up to shift, but otherwise remain closed. Switching to the other side caused a cacophonous screech to come from the mechanism as the bottom lip moved up a few inches. Knowing what worked, the figure continued pulling the chain hoof over hoof until the roll-up was raised high enough to walk under. Following the rails out of the warehouse, the figure found itself in a derelict train yard. A pair of tall, rusted cranes towered overhead, likely used to transfer cargo from the warehouse onto another short set of tracks that ran parallel to another that stretched out of sight to the left and right. Any switch rails that would have connected the two were long since removed, leaving the track segments at the warehouse cut off. Beyond the tracks was a sprawling grassland filled with wildflowers of all different shapes and colors. Far in the distance was a hazy, lone mountain with a large castle hanging on the side. The name "CANTERLOT" came to it unbidden. It had never seen the location nor heard or read the name, yet somehow it knew. The sound of a steam engine faded in from the left, carried by the wind. The figure turned its head to observe the source, and saw a colorful locomotive pulling a dozen passenger cars down the tracks, billowing black coal smoke and white steam. It ducked back inside the warehouse and watched it pass from around the wall. The blast of a train whistle sounded as it approached a single story building next to the tracks further to the right with a raised platform between it and the rails. Brakes squealed as it came to a gradual halt The doors of the passenger cars opened and dozens of colorful ponies poured out. Each one had a pair of distinct eyes and ears, a nose, mouth, mane and tail. The carapaced figure looked between them and its own legs, now noticing that the hard plates where a dull gray, and noted that its own features were vastly different from the ponies in its sight. It carefully observed the distinct images on each of their flanks in the distance and looked at its own. Rather than a pictorial image, it saw the letters "XRCT" in black, blocky letters. The figure cocked its head, failing to determine their meaning. Returning its gaze to the train's resting place, the figure broadened its field of view and a large cluster of structures filled its vision. With few exceptions the buildings were smaller than the warehouse and were widely varied in their architecture and color, though most appeared as small domiciles with angled roofs. "PONYVILLE," came the label assigned to the town. Again, the figure had never seen or heard it before, but possessed its knowledge. It stepped out of the warehouse and followed the tracks towards the village. Perhaps it would learn more there. Rarity tapped a hoof on the front desk, glancing at the clock. At twelve-o'clock noon, the boutique was typically busier than normal with all the ponies coming in on their lunch break. Now, however, the shop was empty aside from her and Sweetie Bell. Even more odd was that ponies had been browsing the shop not fifteen minutes earlier. Was there an event planned for today? she wondered, shifting her gaze to the calendar on her desk. No, certainly I couldn't have missed something like that. Pinkie or Rainbow would already by kicking down my door asking why I wasn't there... She absentmindedly glanced out the window and raised an eyebrow. The streets were absolutely barren. Rarity raised the glass pane and leaned outside, just in time to see another pony slam theirs shut across the road. Looking around she saw that all the other businesses had shuttered their doors and windows. Ugh, must be another non-pony coming in to town, she grumbled. You would think they'd have learned after Zecora. Ah, well, might as well go see if whoever's shown up needs any help. "Sweetie Bell!" she called. "Yeah, Rarity?" her younger sister asked as she stuck her head out of the back room. "Would you mind holding down the fort for a moment? I need to go outside and check up on something." A look of worried confusion crossed the unicorn filly's face. "Uh, sure. Is something wrong?" "Oh, I'm sure it's probably nothing. Everypony's just hiding indoors again, probably scared because they see something they don't recognize... I swear, the nerve of these ponies." "Maybe it would be a good idea to stay inside? I mean, there could be a monster out there... again." Hm, she does have a point... Rarity stuck her head back out the window, head and ears on a swivel. She pulled her head back in and scoffed as she closed the window. "No, not enough sounds of property damage. Don't you worry, I'll be back in a minute." Thinking for a moment, Rarity added on, "Actually, would you mind getting some tea ready? Might as well show some hospitality to whoever everypony is afraid of." "Um... Okay... Just please be careful?" "Heavens, Sweetie, I am the very soul of caution! Now, let's go see what has everypony running for their lives." As Rarity stepped out the door, the source of Ponyville's regularly scheduled panic was painfully obvious. She stood on her porch and gawked at the figure casually walking down the empty street, oblivious to the commotion they had caused. What trotted through the shuttered marketplace was far and away the largest stallion Rarity had ever seen. Even from this distance she could tell he would tower head and withers over the tallest pony and was as wide as her doorway. He was garbed head to hoof in thick, gray armor that covered his body so thoroughly it was impossible to see the pony within. No mane or tail stuck through, not even his ears. Other than a few black letters on its flank the armor was completely devoid of embellishments or accoutrements, making Rarity suppress a gag at the lack of fashion sense of its smith. While she understood the practical necessity of a functional suit of armor, few went to the trouble of fashioning such an expensive piece of equipment and not going to the trouble of making it look nice. Despite the obvious disturbance the enormous stallion had caused, he walked down the center of the street with calm and poise. Never stopping or slowing his pace, his massive helmeted head swung left and right, studying the boarded up buildings around him as if he were in a museum. His pace, though slow, was rhythmic and methodical like the marching of a soldier doing drill. Surely he's not a Royal Guard, is he? Rarity wondered. None of the guards' armor I've ever seen looks so... unornamented. A chill crept down her spine as she regarded the armored stallion. Something about him just seemed... off. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and stepped off her porch to greet the new arrival. As Rarity drew near her breath caught in her chest as the stallion suddenly stopped in his tracks, locking its gaze squarely on her as she approached. He said nothing, watching her in dead silence through glossy black visor. "Ahem, excuse me sir, but you look lost," Rarity said hesitantly, craning her neck to meet the enormous stallion's gaze only to find herself reflected in the dark glass that obscured his eyes. "Would you... like some assistance?" He cocked his head like a Germane Shepherd and stood stock still in silence, making Rarity wonder if he even spoke Equestrian. When he finally spoke she had to fight the reflexive urge to recoil in shock. "Affirmative," he said after a long pause "I, require, assistance." His voice was a deep, distorted monotone, delivering each word as if it were a statement on its own. Neither his head or chest moved as he spoke, giving the impression of it being a recording that some prankster had just decided to suddenly press "play" on. Rarity's heart hammered in her chest as adrenaline coursed through her. Why was he making her so uneasy? She knew better than to judge a book by its cover, so why was this stallion setting off so many alarm bells? Fighting to suppress her instincts, she managed to force herself to maintain her composure. "Well, in that case, would you care to follow me to my shop, darling? We can show you a map and get you were you need to go." Another long pause as the armored stallion considered her offer. "Affirmative," he stated, remaining as motionless as before. "Marvelous! Right this way." Rarity turned and led the stallion back to the boutique. When she looked over her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw him following close behind; his hoofsteps hardly made a sound on the cobblestones despite his obscene bulk. She opened the door and called for her sister. "Sweetie Bell! I'm back, is the tea ready yet? We have... company." "In a minute! The water just stopped boiling," her disembodied voice came from the back room. The large stallion turned his head in its direction and cocked his head again. "Now, then, I'm sure I've got a map of the town somewhere around here, Mister..." Rarity trailed off, realizing she hadn't asked his name. "Oh, goodness, how could I be so rude? My name is Rarity, owner and proprietor of the Carousel Boutique. And, you are... ?" The stallion fixed her with his statuesque head tilt again. "Name? I, do, not, know." Rarity blinked. "You... don't know? You mean you don't remember?" "Affirmative." A torrent of thoughts flooded Rarity's mind. He didn't know his own name? Did he have amnesia? It would certainly explain how lost he looked. But if that was the case, then... a map probably wouldn't do him much good. "I... I see. Is there anything you do remember?" "My, memory, begins, two, hours, twelve, minutes, ago, in, an, abandoned, warehouse." Rarity's jaw worked silently as she stared at the stallion with eyes agape. Abandoned warehouse... does he mean the old factory? But... nopony's used it for years. "Um... Well... If you don't mind me saying, darling, I think your name ought to be the first thing we get sorted out. Do you have a name tag of some kind?" The stallion looked himself over. Other than the letters "XRCT" stenciled on his armored flank, he was completely lacking in markings. "XRCT," he said after his cursory examination of himself. "That's hardly what I'd call a name, darling," Rarity said, wondering what the letters actually meant as she thought of how to pronounce them. "Hm... 'Exerct'?" "Negative," was the swift response. Rarity nodded. "I agree, that sounds absolutely dreadful." She circled him, looked him up and down as she struggled for inspiration. The stallion seemed to ignore her ogling as he looked around the boutique before eventually settling his gaze on a full-body mirror. His head tilted again as he looked at his reflection, oblivious to the mare in front of him. Suddenly a small plate on the underside of his barrel grabbed Rarity's attention. "Ah, I think I see something under your barrel here..." she said, blushing profusely. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but could I take a look, please?" "Affirmative," he said, and raised the foreleg nearest her, eyes still locked on his reflection. Rarity took a deep breath. Well, if he can be professional about it, so can I. Still blushing, she knelt down and looked up at the small plate. To her disappointment, it had no name, just typical boiler plate information. ROYAL DYNAMICS LAND SYSTEMS MODEL: XRCT VARIANT: MK. II SER. NO.: 001 The plate looked oddly familiar, like Rarity had seen it countless times but never given it any thought. But why would anypony have a boiler plate instead of a name ta- Her thought was cut short at the sudden realization. "Um, pardon me, sir," she stammered out as she returned to an upright posture. "But I need to go have a look at something for a moment." "Acknowledged," came the simple reply. Rarity dashed for the basement door and swung it open. Being the neat freak she was, her basement was always kept clean and tidy, despite only ever being used for storage and utilities. At the bottom of the stairs was the building's furnace, kept as immaculate as anything else she had no matter how much of an eyesore it was. There, stuck on the side of it was an almost identical plate detailing the furnace's make and model. The only fundamental difference was the pre-printed company name of Royal Dynamics Consumer Products. She very nearly hyperventilated as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Suddenly, everything made sense. His movements and lack thereof, his speech, his almost blissful ignorance. None of it was the behavior - natural or otherwise - of a pony or any other living creature. Feeling sick to her stomach, Rarity climbed back up the stairs to rejoin the armored... figure. She was sure of it now: this being was no stallion, or pony, or as she suspected even alive. As she returned to the figure, it turned its head to face her momentarily. Again, the rest of its body remained stock still. It reverted its gaze back to its reflection in the mirror, directed at the "XRCT" on its flank. Unbidden, it continued attempting to pronounce the letters in the same way Rarity had. "Zerked. Zirkt. Zir-kit." It stopped. Rarity shrank back instinctively as it stepped towards her to face her directly, its head held higher than before. She was sure of it now: this was a machine. "I, am, ... Circuit."